


tomorrow we'll wake up kinder

by aminami



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Angst, Bad End AU, M/M, P5R Spoilers, Porn with Feelings, Psychological Horror, Trans Male Character, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:42:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27304315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aminami/pseuds/aminami
Summary: Something slithers through Akira’s brain, cold and unpleasant, much like Goro’s gaze.“Ah, I told you,” Goro says with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m not all that great with horror movies.”In the warm embrace of Maruki's reality, Akira wakes up.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 11
Kudos: 159
Collections: 21 plus server halloween event





	tomorrow we'll wake up kinder

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SuperMechaAkira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperMechaAkira/gifts).



> thank you [shanti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shantealeaves/pseuds/shantealeaves) for beta reading—you reshaped this story into something actually readable and I’ll be eternally grateful for your hard work, and all the advice you have given me over the last few days!

**Goro:** I’m done with work for today. Can’t wait to see you. :) Let’s get spooky.

 **Akira:** take your time. see you soon and haha let’s <3

* * *

Oh, by all means, Akechi should take his time because Akira is not ready, and he’s going to throw up.

He’s never been so nervous about having a friend come over, but everything about tonight is special. By all accounts, it shouldn’t be all that different—they’ve been alone together before, of course they have, but then his stupid friends made him believe it’s a date, and now he can’t get the idea out of his head.

But then, what if it’s not a date?

Was the “<3” too much? What if Akechi thinks Akira is some desperate weirdo? Or worse, what if Akechi considers his relationship with Akira to be so platonic that the thought of it being romantic didn’t even cross his mind?

“What time is it?” he asks, weirdly out of breath, putting the phone back into his pocket to stop himself from overthinking.

“Add one minute to my previous answer,” Sojiro says, rolling his eyes from behind the counter. “But sure, a lot could have changed since then. Ask me again soon, kid.”

Akira ignores him, currently way too preoccupied with his outfit to care about Sojiro’s old-man snark.

He runs up and down the stairs so many times to change his clothes and check his hair in the mirror that Sojiro eventually has to threaten that he’s going to take money from his allowance for stair repairs—not that it stops him from pacing.

He double-checks the fridge to make sure they have everything he might need to make pancakes. He spent the entire weekend practicing so they’re the right amount of fluff, not too flat and not too thick, exactly the way Akechi likes them—pancakes so beautiful that Yusuke would beg Akira for an opportunity to paint them.

But what if Akechi doesn’t feel like eating anything sweet?

Akira taps his fingers against the door of the open fridge, and checks his own watch to escape Sojiro’s wrath—he still has time to run to the grocery store.

Maybe he could make curry instead? Then again, Akechi loves sweets, _but then_ there’s still a chance he’ll be disappointed, in which case, Akira can make savory pancakes, but what if Akechi wants curry after all, and—

“You’re giving me motion sickness.” Sojiro hits him with a newspaper like he’s a misbehaving dog, but fine, maybe Akira deserves it a little. “And now you’re giving me a headache. Just relax. He’ll love your stupid pancakes.”

Oh, Akira must have been rambling out loud. He does that a lot.

“Sorry for making you my guinea pig,” he says apologetically. “Ann was really busy this week.”

And the previous week. And she’ll be busy next week, too. 

All of his friends are busy, but it’s not like he has time to catch up with them either. That makes him stop for a moment. _Huh_ , he really doesn’t see them much outside of school, does he? He spends most of his free time working in Leblanc, catching up with Akechi, or studying, so he can barely blame them, but has it always been like this?

“Being your guinea pig isn’t too bad,” Sojiro shrugs, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Your food is actually decent.”

“Wakaba tried to make something other than curry again?” Akira asks. “I did hear the neighbors complain about the fire department showing up in the middle of the night.”

“They might have to again tonight,” Sojiro scowls. “I promised them both they would get to use the kitchen every Friday. Family bonding, and all that.”

“Please don’t ruin my evening,” Akira groans. “Stop her if you have to. I don’t want Akechi to think this neighborhood is dangerous, you know how…cautious he can get.”

 _Cautious_ might be a light way to put it.

Akechi’s always been overprotective when it comes to Akira, to the point of his friends making light jokes about it. It makes him happy, and obviously, it means Akechi cares about him. But sometimes he wishes Akechi could play things less safe. Maybe go to university, get a real job…

He shakes his head. Akechi knows what’s best for him. Akira should never doubt him.

“Futaba’s cooking tonight,” Sojiro says, scratching the back of his head in what Akira knows to be an attempt to hide his worry. “Sorry kid, I’m not hoping to make it through the night.”

Akira gives him a sympathetic look. “I hope it’s not as bad as the last curry she made.”

“There’s that, but there’s always the risk that she and Wakaba will burn the house down,” Sojiro chuckles, and Akira can’t help but grin.

“Not to sound too hopeful, but if you die, do I get to run the café?” 

“Brat,” Sojiro groans, but he’s already ruffling Akira’s hair, and Akira yelps in protest. 

“I spent an hour fixing my hair!”

“Yeah, and it definitely didn’t look like it was worth the effort. It looks better that way anyway.”

Akira runs off quickly to check his reflection in the mirror, panic already settling in his stomach. He brushes the fringe away from his eyes. He hates it when Sojiro’s right, so he still makes sure to visibly pout as he comes out of the bathroom just to be contrary, even though his hair actually does look better now.

“That’s the point,” Akira mutters stubbornly. “You make it look effortless, but it takes time to get it right.”

“You always get it right with that kid,” Sojiro points out. “He’s already smitten with you.”

Akira blushes, biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself from grinning, but he knows it’s true. They’re not even dating ( _yet_ , he’s working on it), but he never had a reason to doubt Akechi’s feelings—somehow he just _knows_. As if they already spent another lifetime falling in love with each other, over and over again. 

Of course, he’d never say something that sappy in front of him. Or Sojiro, for that matter.

“To answer your question,” Sojiro says, clearly done with his share of bullying for the day. “You will get the café. Might be the wrong time to mention it, though honestly, with Futaba’s cooking, maybe now is the time I _should_ mention it.” 

“What do you mean?”

“I made sure to include you in my will. You know that I could never trust anyone else with this place.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Akira admits. “It’s hard to imagine Leblanc without you.”

“I won’t be around forever,” Sojiro laughs. “No one will.”

Akira pushes the thought away as easily as most of the occasional fears and doubts that come through his head. It’s hard to imagine anything bad happening with how happy he’s been lately, and no matter what Sojiro says, he refuses to believe it.

“I want to be with all of you forever,” Akira says somehow childishly, but to his surprise, Sojiro just looks at him softly.

“Right back at ya, kiddo,” he echoes taking off his apron. Akira watches him put on his fancy hat, and this time, when Sojiro makes another attempt at sabotaging his hair, he dodges gracefully. “I hope you two have fun. Just don’t stay up too late. Akechi might be freelancing, but you still have school tomorrow.”

“As if Akechi would let me,” Akira rolls his eyes. “He takes my education more seriously than his own. Besides, we’re going to watch a movie. That’s all this is.”

“He cares about you,” Sojiro shrugs. “I’d say he’s a keeper, and you know I don’t compliment guys easily. Now, come here. It’s time for our ritual.”

Sojiro comes closer to give him a big hug. Akira wraps his arms around him—he gained a few extra inches during the summer, so he’s even taller than his adoptive dad now than when he first showed up in Leblanc. He puts his chin on Sojiro’s shoulder, and for a moment, he lets himself be held.

Akira feels so blessed. He has so many people around him who want to make him feel safe, expecting nothing in return. He wouldn’t trade away his life for anything.

“I love you, kiddo,” Sojiro says, patting his back. “I’m very proud of you. I hope you don’t mind this old man teasing you a bit, but I’m sure tonight will go great. I’ll see you tomorrow and you’ll tell me everything about it.”

“I will.”

He doesn’t know why he feels so sad when Sojiro leaves, and he realizes he hasn’t really felt sad in a long time. It’s funny; it’s not like Sojiro’s going anywhere, but he can’t help but feel that something about today feels final.

 _Sojiro will still be here tomorrow_ , Akira tells himself, and he’s right, everything will be just fine. Akira shouldn’t worry so much, in fact, he should just stop worrying altogether.

The bell over the door frame rings faintly somewhere behind him, and Akira’s heart starts beating faster. Whatever it was he was agonizing over mere seconds ago suddenly seems completely meaningless.

“Sorry I’m early,” Akechi looks at him sheepishly, shutting the door behind him. “My bike rides usually take longer. I guess I couldn’t wait to see you, haha.”

He looks impeccable as always. Frankly, it should be criminal to look this good when you just got off a bike. His cheeks are red from the cold, and okay, his hair is a little windblown, but honestly, it makes him look even cuter. He takes off his jacket to reveal a well-ironed shirt with a comfortable sweater vest thrown over it. Only Akechi could make something like that look so effortless. 

“That’s a new shirt,” Akechi points out, and Akira’s pretty sure he’s one compliment away from combusting. “It looks nice on you. It really brings out your eyes.”

That’s what Yusuke said too, but Akechi always gets quiet when Akira mentions Yusuke, so he doesn’t mention it. Ann called it being possessive, and some part of Akira is insanely happy about it. 

He never knows how to compliment Akechi when he always looks like a model, so whenever he opens his mouth it’s an absolute disaster. Today is no exception.

“Thanks, you look greutiful.” Akira mumbles and Akechi raises one perfectly-shaped eyebrow at him.

 _Oh no._

He gives himself a mental smack on the forehead.

“Let me take your coat,” he says quickly, and Akechi hands it to him to spare him some of the shame, watching Akira with an amused expression.

“Greutiful,” he repeats.

“I’ll have you know creating new words is often considered to be a mark of genius. I’m just saying I might be a wordsmithing prodigy, way ahead of my time.”

“You might be,” Akechi says with a chuckle. “I must say you become awfully creative whenever I’m around.”

“I guess one could say you’re my muse.”

“So I’m great and beautiful?” Akechi asks just to make sure. He looks weirdly self-conscious, and Akira doesn’t like it. He’d happily devote the rest of his life to praising Akechi, and he secretly hates everyone who put holes in his already fragile self-esteem.

Akira leaves Akechi’s coat and backpack in one of the booths, using the time to gather his thoughts. “I thought I made it clear, but yes, you’re all those things to me, Akechi.”

“Haha, I told you,” Akechi smiles at him, pulling a stray lock of hair behind his ear to hide his embarrassment. “Just call me Goro. There’s no need to be so formal. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“That’s right, you did,” Akira feels silly now. How could he forget? “I’m sorry, Goro. Would you like some coffee?”

“Coffee is bad for you,” Goro chides him. “At least, in the amounts you drink. It’s why you’re constantly up until late.” 

Akira pouts and Goro rolls his eyes. “...but I suppose one cup won’t hurt either of us. With coffee as excellent as it is here, it would be an absolute travesty to skip it, wouldn’t it?”

“You’re right,” Akira beams. “You’re absolutely right.”

He always finds it so easy to agree with Goro. 

Once he finishes the coffee, Akira starts on the pancakes, and he shivers when Goro steps into the kitchen to ask if there’s anything he can do to help, their bodies brushing against each other in the small space. Akira politely declines—Goro’s already proven to be the most hopeless cook, though not for lack of trying.

Goro lingers in the kitchen, and if Akira’s hands are sweatier than usual, at least he has someone to blame. He wonders if Goro knows how much he affects him by simply standing next to him and if he’s doing it on purpose. He gets goosebumps just from thinking about it. 

He can feel Goro’s breath on his neck, and when Goro places his chin on Akira’s shoulder to take a peek at his cooking, he almost drops the frying pan on the floor. He smells like the wind, the autumn leaves, and some expensive perfume that Ann would probably easily recognize.

“Careful,” Goro murmurs into his ear. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“You’re very distracting,” Akira accuses, immediately cursing himself when Goro actually listens to him and leaves; Akira finds himself painfully cold without his presence.

“I’ll just wait patiently out here for my food then,” Goro says with a small smile, and Akira _swears_ he looks a little disappointed when he takes a step back.

As Akira cooks, Goro complains a little about his work, and in return, Akira talks about his classes, greedily accepting any advice Goro has for him. He loves how domestic it feels; it’s addicting, like everything else about Goro. 

Akira can’t wait to graduate, because then he can suggest moving in together—as roommates at first, of course, unless they’re more than just roommates by then. In which case, they should _definitely_ move in together.

“You mentioned recently that you got a modeling offer?” Akira asks, setting the plate in front of him.

Goro devours his pancakes so fast Akira’s almost scared he’ll choke, so it takes him some time to answer. Akira takes it as a compliment to his cooking.

“There was an offer, yes, but I turned it down.”

“Why? I think you’d be a great model with your looks.”

Goro makes a face. “I appreciate the compliment, but truthfully, it’s too much effort, too much risk… You know how bad I am with stress. Besides, I don’t _hate_ being a freelancer.”

“And you don’t _love_ it either,” Akira points out blatantly. “I think you could be so much more than that.”

He doesn’t know why he says that, but it sure does a great job bringing the mood down. Luckily, Goro’s way smarter than him, so he’s quick to change the subject.

“Enough talk of boring work stuff,” he waves his hand dismissively. “What are we watching tonight?”

“I was thinking something in the spirit of Halloween?” Akira suggests, rubbing the back of his neck. “I rented out some horror movies that I thought you might like. You did mention you wanted to...What was it? _Get spooky_?”

Akira can see a faint blush reaching the tips of Goro’s ears, and as much as he hates to bully Goro, seeing him flustered makes it all worth it.

“A horror movie?” Goro repeats, cocking his head to the side. It makes some of his hair cover his eyes, and Akira’s fingers itch painfully to fix it for him. “I hope it’s not too scary. I don’t do well with blood and violence.”

He’s so cute Akira can’t believe he’s real. 

He doesn’t want to make Goro more uncomfortable, but at the same time. he hopes he doesn’t change his mind about the movie. The idea of having a disagreement with Goro makes his eyebrows furrow in worry, and he already feels like he’s upset him plenty.

“It’s just a silly Halloween movie,” he says carefully, and Goro relaxes with an apprehensive smile. “Besides, I’d be sitting next to you the whole time. You have nothing to be afraid of.”

Goro can take his hand if he’s scared. Or not. It’s totally fine.

“I know it’s embarrassing since I’m technically your senior, haha.” Akira loves that cute laugh, but it usually means Goro’s hiding his insecurity, and that part, he doesn’t like one bit. “But if it’s you…I guess, I’ll be in your care. Just stay close to me?”

Akira wants to stay close to him for the rest of his life. For now, he simply nods.

Goro insists on helping with the dishes, and after that’s done, they move to the attic. Akira apologizes for the mess like he didn’t spend the last three days cleaning every inch of it just for this occasion, and Goro tells him not to worry about it, effectively soothing his nerves. 

Akira moved the sofa to face the TV this morning so they’d be more comfortable, and Goro sits down, all nice and proper as Akira puts the movie on. Akira hesitates a little before sitting down next to Goro, deciding to keep a respectful distance between them when he settles next to him.

Still, he can’t help but notice that his little finger is only a few inches away from Goro’s hand. It’s far more distracting than he thought it would be, and he can barely focus on the movie.

Despite what he was saying earlier, Goro seems to be really into it, his eyes not leaving the screen for even a moment. Akira spends way too much time watching Goro’s profile rather than the movie. Goro doesn’t notice, and if he does, he’s at least merciful enough not to call him out on it. 

The lights are off, leaving the TV as the only remaining light source in the room. Somehow, it makes everything different.

It’s like there’s static in the space between him and Goro, pulling Akira in like a magnet. His hand is nearly touching Goro’s, but to his disappointment, Goro doesn’t look too scared. Even so, that comes with its own sets of perks. Having him so enthralled by the movie means Akira is free to observe every glimmer in his eye, every twitch of muscle on Goro’s face. His eye color changes depending on the lighting, the reflection of the screen turning his face into something barely recognizable, more akin to a mask than his usual kind features.

It’s weird to see him so focused. With the things being as good as they are, Akira hardly sees him with anything but a smile plastered to his face. He can’t recall why that strikes him as weird, but for some reason, it does.

“That’s an interesting concept,” Goro says suddenly, turning to face him. “Don’t you think?”

Crap.

Akira quickly glances at the screen. Thankfully, he’s seen this movie before, and he chose it for this exact reason, knowing he’d likely get too distracted to fully focus.

“It’s an interesting plot twist,” he says carefully, after recognizing the part they’re at. “They paced it rather well, too.”

“Indeed,” Goro nods. It’s weird to have the same piercing gaze now directed at him as if suddenly he became far more interesting than the movie. “The person everyone considered to be the villain to be so suddenly betrayed by the protagonist? I’ve never seen anything like it.” 

“Me neither,” Akira agrees, suddenly uncomfortable.

“And the killer?” Goro continues monologuing like Akira isn’t even here. He’s looking somewhere past him like he’s trying to pierce through his skull with his voice alone, probing and pushing without really changing his tone. “I suppose he doesn’t realize yet that he’s become the prey.”

Something slithers through Akira’s brain, cold and unpleasant, much like Goro’s gaze.

“Goro, are you okay?” he forces himself to ask.

He looks at Akira this time, and not whatever phantom that seemed to have appeared behind him.

“Ah, I told you,” Goro says with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m not all that great with horror movies.”

Akira starts getting up. “Maybe I should—”

“Let’s keep watching,” Goro stops him in a voice so commanding it makes him sit back down instantly. He forces himself to lean back against the couch, and suddenly, Goro grabs his wrist, but it’s not as romantic as Akira imagined it in his head. It oddly feels like being handcuffed.

Akira obediently glues his eyes to the screen, too afraid to as much as peek at Goro’s face now. 

“See,” Goro sighs after a while. “It’s so upsettingly predictable. The hunter becomes the hunted. Backstabbed when he least expected it. But look, it appears he’s still alive. Perhaps he’ll be able to get his revenge soon enough.”

Akira doesn’t know the person sitting next to him. But it certainly isn’t the Goro Akechi he knows. It’s just someone who has his voice, and maybe even his looks, but if he turned to—

“Look at me, Akira.”

Akira’s voice gets stuck in his throat.

_I don’t want to._

“No?” Goro’s voice is cold as ice. “Then maybe I need to make you look.”

There’s some shuffling to the side, and even when he’s released from the vice grip, Akira doesn’t move. Goro’s look-alike straddles Akira’s lap, gripping his face with his cold fingers, hard enough to bruise. His hands are completely bare, ungloved, and oh, why is Akira thinking they _should_ be gloved again?

With his chin tilted up, he has no choice but to look.

The person straddling his lap still has Goro’s face. There’s something familiar about him like he’s two people merged into one, both of whom Akira recognizes, and yet he’s not able to put his finger on the other. It’s driving him insane.

The familiar voice continues the interrogation.

“Do you still think I’m beautiful?”

 _Yes_.

“Great?”

_I’m not sure._

“What am I then?”

 _Terrifying_.

“Do you like me?” Goro murmurs into his ear.

_Yes, of course, I like you._

“Do you want me?” he licks over the sensitive shell of Akira’s ear.

_Like I never wanted anyone before._

“Would you do anything for me?” His hand is moving down Akira’s chest and into his pants.

_Anything, anything._

“Would you let me fuck you? Or would you rather fuck me?”

_Either. Both. Whatever you want._

“Kill for me?”

_I_ _—_

It all happens very quickly, and his eyes automatically fall shut.

Something in his mind shatters irreversibly into a billion pieces—beautiful and sparkling, like a self-destructing crystal. It’s surprisingly painless, but Akira still shivers as the blinding light dances under his eyelids before becoming completely still.

And then he feels a hard smack against his cheek. Akira forces himself to open his eyes.

“Come on,” Akechi snarls. “Wake the fuck up, Joker.” 

The movie behind them ends, leaving them in complete darkness, and yet Akechi’s face has never been more clearer. 

That’s right. Akechi. Not Goro.

And he’s…Joker? Used to be, anyway. 

Akechi’s watching him like a hawk, waiting for his reaction. 

“You’re hard,” Akira points out.

For some reason, it’s the first thing that comes into his head.

Akechi rolls his eyes. “Yes, I’m aware. Probably for the first time in ages. And I assume it’s been the same for you?”

Akira forces himself to think, but remembering hurts. The remnants of the shining crystal are still residing in his brain like a shrapnel wound. He can feel where it grew like a parasite in his brain, all his nerve endings, his muscles, his very soul taken over by an intruder.

Akechi’s hand is still in his boxers, and even though his fingers are perfectly still, he can definitely tell he’s completely soaked with slick as if his whole body decided to let out all of his pent up desperation.

Oh, so this is what it feels like.

Maybe Maruki assumed they wouldn’t have sex drives. Or that you’re not supposed to even think about having sex with someone until you date them for a significant amount of time. 

Now that Akechi mentions it, Akira doesn’t recall wanting anything more than to hold Goro’s hand. Maybe kiss him, just a gentle peck on the mouth, but that’s as far as his imagination was willing to take him.

And now he’s being flooded by memories—actual memories, not fantasies. 

The first time they broke down that invisible wall between them in the laundromat, shortly after making a deal, rubbing against each until they both came and they had to clean themselves up before meeting Sumire—or Kasumi, then—in Odaiba. Akechi fucking him in every safe room of Maruki’s Palace, probably more out of spite than anything else.

And finally, the only time they actually made love in Leblanc before Akira made his final decision, only to ruin it when he gave Maruki his final answer. 

“You’re wet,” Akechi murmurs with some hint of satisfaction. 

“I’m aware,” Akira echoes. He can’t think of anything else to say.

It’s like that moment when you already see the lightning, but you don’t actually hear the thunder. It’s paralyzing in its anticipation. 

A part of Akira wants to push Akechi off his lap and run as fast as possible—on all fours if he has to—to get out of here as far as possible. The other wants to grab him by the throat and choke him before Akechi makes his first move. Talk about fight or flight.

For now it seems they’ve reached a stalemate, too stunned by the weight of all these memories coming back all at once. Akira refuses to drop his gaze, and Akechi looks back at him with an equal amount of stubborn resolve.

He clears his throat. “Akechi, I…”

“ _Shut the fuck up._ ”

He barely registers Akechi standing up, grabbing Akira by the back of his shirt, with the other hand on his neck, and hauling him towards the bed like he’s a misbehaving animal. Akira’s knees bump painfully against the floor, and then the bed, and he never realized how hard his mattress is until Akechi practically slams his body against it, climbing on top of him to trap him under his weight.

With the streetlights shining through the window, he can make out Akechi’s expression more clearly.

Their eyes meet for a brief moment.

And just like that, Akira understands. He understands the same primal intent now so easily recognizable in Akechi’s eyes. He’s so familiar, he’s Akechi, _the real_ Akechi, and he’s still an extension of him, except now both of them want nothing but destruction.

Akechi’s still waiting. Akira nods.

He’s wide awake.

“Just for the record,” Akechi snarls. “We’re not done here. But that talk can wait until I’m done with you.”

Akechi claims his mouth hungrily, more biting than kissing, and Akira immediately gives back as much passion as he possibly can, with his nails scratching the skin under Akechi’s clothes, trying to get it off, _off_ , and he’s pretty sure Akechi rips his new shirt when he tries to strip it off of him, but Akira couldn’t give less of a shit, delighted at the sound of the buttons hitting the wooden floor.

It’s a weird type of silent communication, the kind he’s never had with anyone. With every movement, Akechi’s body talks to him. It’s still the same body, the body of a hitman, a murderer, the betrayer, and the betrayed.

And Akira’s the traitor, he’s a filthy coward, but even so Akechi still seems to be willing to touch him. Akira wants Akechi to rip him apart for what he’s done.

For now, they settle on ripping each other’s clothes off, which is just as fine.

Even after all this time, being intimate with Akechi is a lot like dancing—well-rehearsed, not missing a beat, each movement a direct extension of the other’s. Akira lifts his hips and Akechi helps him out of his underwear, and he shouldn’t be turned on by the fact that Akechi is still mostly dressed while Akira is completely bare, but Akira’s common sense flew out the window a long time ago.

In the silence of the room, Akechi’s body is still whispering to him.

_Remember—this is what you wanted, Joker._

Akira can’t undo what he’s done. But he’s happy to offer his body as compensation. 

Akechi seems determined to leave marks on every inch of Akira’s body, gripping his hips to keep him from grinding against his cock as he works his mouth from Akira’s neck, all the way through his chest, and finally, _finally_ , spreading his thighs wide open. Akira can’t wait to see himself tomorrow, covered in hickeys and bruises shaped like Akechi’s fingers, and it’s either that thought or the feeling of cold air between his legs that has him shivering between the sheets.

Akechi doesn’t waste time. He licks from Akira’s hole all the way up to his clit, letting his tongue linger there for a moment, before pulling away like he was just trying to remember what Akira tastes like.

“Akechi, don’t tease,” Akira moans, his hips jolting to chase after his tongue, but Akechi keeps him well-pinned. He smiles, somehow ugly like he doesn’t want to force another smile on his face ever again. 

“You sure it’s me you want in your bed?” he goads him. “Not _Goro_? Don’t you want to call his name instead?”

That’s right.

He’s Crow, he’s Black Mask, he’s Akechi, but never Goro. Not to Akira, and he never will be. 

“I want you,” Akira sobs. “Akechi, please, I’ll do anything.”

“You’re so pathetic,” Akechi shakes his head. “I almost don’t want to fuck you.”

Akechi’s erection begs to differ, but Akira doesn’t think it’s the right time to call him out. 

He somehow manages to catch Akechi off-guard and sneak out from his grip to straddle him. Akechi lets out a surprised noise, but he lets himself be kissed and doesn’t seem all that eager to push Akira away, even when Akira starts rubbing his wet slit against Akechi’s clothed crotch, chasing his own pleasure. 

Akechi’s hands are firm on Akira’s hips, and while he doesn’t do anything to help him get off, he still kisses him fervently when Akira finds his release, his clit dragging painfully against Akechi’s zipper. He can’t bring himself to care, and maybe it’s the pain that does it for him, or maybe it’s Akechi’s overwhelming smell, his presence, and his quickened breath on Akira’s lips.

While he’s still working through the aftershocks, Akechi pushes him back on the mattress. Only then does he take a good look at his ruined pants, and then back at Akira.

“You’re absolutely repulsive,” he says, but Akira doesn’t really mind if that means he gets to watch Akechi undress, even if his fingers itch to help him out of his clothes as fast as possible. Akechi doesn’t make a show of it, likely thinking everything about this situation is already a major waste of his time.

This time, when Akechi traps him under his weight, he makes sure not to leave even an inch of space between their bodies, like he’s trying to devour all the warmth Akira’s willing to give him. He rubs his bare cock through Akira’s wetness, and though he’s still oversensitive, Akira can feel his hole clench around nothing anyway, and by that point, he’d sell his soul to Satan just to get Akechi inside him.

“I can feel it, you know,” Akechi whispers into his ear. “How desperate you are for me, absolutely fucking deplorable. Did Maruki really think he could keep you in this reality? A cock-starved whore like you?”

Akira opens his mouth to protest, but then Akechi pulls away a bit, and then he plunges two fingers inside him.

Akechi doesn’t take his time with him, he never did. He starts with a quick pace, easily hitting all the spots Akira wants him to hit because even in bed, Goro Akechi can’t stand to be anything less than meticulous and efficient.

Akira half-expects Akechi to swat his hand away when touches his own clit, but Akechi doesn’t seem to be all that interested in getting him off, just in getting his hole loose enough to fuck him easily. A part of Akira wishes Akechi would skip the foreplay altogether and just fuck him hard enough to make him scream in pain, and based on their previous experiences it does seem like a very Akechi thing to do, but maybe that fake-reality part of him is still lingering strongly enough for Akechi to take pity on him.

“I assume Maruki’s castrated version of reality doesn’t come with condoms in your drawer?” Akechi pulls away for a moment, and Akira is frankly still a little distracted with Akechi’s fingers pumping in and out of his hole, so it takes him a moment—and a way too painful bite on his shoulder—to even notice Akechi is saying something to him.

“What?” he asks distractedly, his own fingers still working his clit, trying to get his brain to work and failing miserably.

Akechi rolls his eyes, taking both of his hands to pin them above his head. “Condoms. Focus.”

With the way they’re positioned, he’s forced to look at Akechi, _really_ look at him, and somehow without Maruki’s goggles he seems even more beautiful—he’s downright frightening, everything about his gaze setting off alarms, his instincts screaming that he might not make it out alive. Somehow that only makes him even wetter around Akechi’s fingers, now completely still inside him. 

Akechi looks slightly bitter, if not bored, like he’s not even enjoying himself and Akira’s just a piece of trash that he picked up in a back alley and took home for lack of a better option.

God, Akira missed this.

“Just…don’t,” he stammers out eventually.

“Don’t what?” Akechi asks, but he’s already hiding a smirk, and he’s an asshole and is probably already planning to kill him afterward, but that’s all fine. Akira deserves all of that and more.

“Because like you said, there are no condoms in my drawer,” he states, because clearly Akechi needs it spelled out for him, or maybe he loves watching Akira squirm. “But even if there were, I wouldn’t want you to use one.”

This world is too perfect for it to matter anyway. There’s no place for repercussions in Maruki’s fantasy.

The change in Akechi’s facial expression is so small that no one but Akira would know it to be hidden amusement. “And why is that?”

Okay. He’s definitely doing it on purpose. 

“I want you to come inside me,” he says, and Akechi kisses him, raw and forceful like he forgets Akira’s a living thing, warm and breathing under him. Like he doesn’t even care if Akira’s on the other end of it.

And then he pulls away as if he suddenly remembered he’s not that into it after all. “Cliche. Try again.”

Akira wiggles his hands. He’s probably strong enough to force his way out of Akechi’s grip, but sometimes he too can be taken by surprise, Akechi’s words throwing him completely off balance. He doesn’t know where Akechi’s sudden urge to be a tease even comes from other than probably some spiteful awareness that he’s pissing Akira off.

“What?” 

“You’re good with words,” Akechi teases. He flicks his thumb over Akira’s clit briefly to make him shudder. “Convince me why I should still fuck you.”

“Because I need you.”

Akechi slides his finger through his slit lazily. “No, you don’t. Try again.” 

“You don’t even need to fuck me, I’ll suck your cock until you come down my throat and —”

“No,” Akechi chuckles, withdrawing his fingers. “You don’t get to do that, not even if you beg me on your knees. And don’t give me that look—we both know how _capable_ you are when it comes to begging.”

“Fuck, fine,” Akira groans. “I want you to fuck me for all the months we spent being fucking brainwashed, I want you to make me as loose for you as I was back then and, _a-ah_!”

Akechi plunges his fingers back into his hole, spreading him open as wide as possible. “Go on.”

“I want you to mark me in every way possible,” Akira babbles helplessly, clenching desperately around Akechi’s digits. “I want us to stain this reality, I want you to keep me here all night and fuck me until I can’t walk, so that everyone in this shitty world knows what we’ve done.”

“Are you sure?” Akechi leans in to lick over Akira’s mouth, still working him open, but with one thumb on his clit this time, drawing small circles sending small jolts of pleasure through Akira’s body. “It’s a school night. Sojiro might catch us.”

Akira lets himself be kissed for a moment before answering. “You can fuck me in the middle of Shibuya for all I care. Just get on with it.”

“Bossy and annoying,” Akechi pulls at Akira’s bottom lip and kisses him until he can taste his own blood. “That’s my Joker.” 

He enters him in one swift movement, and well, fuck, that still hurts. It’s really been a while. Akira doesn’t know if some of the discomfort shows on his face, but Akechi stills inside him, just for a moment, and then he’s closing his eyes, and _oh_.

It’s been a while for him, too. 

Akira does his best not to laugh, though frankly, it’s all downright hilarious. 

“Do I make you lose your cool, Detective?” he goads him just for the hell of it. 

“You’re tighter than I remembered,” Akechi groans, and he pushes further into Akira to punish him. Akira can’t help the moan that escapes his throat, and of course, Akechi won’t let him live that down. “Did you lose _your_ cool, Joker?”

“You’re bigger than I remembered,” Akira says, and Akechi actually chuckles. He is, though, and since Akechi doesn’t give him the luxury of waiting until he gets used to it, there’s a slight burn that he enjoys probably much more than he should when Akechi moves his hips again, pulling out almost all the way only to slam back inside him.

Akechi picks up the pace, his thrusts moving Akira further up the bed, so he wraps his legs around Akechi as tightly as he can to hang on. He can’t help but notice that Akechi keeps his eyes closed the whole time with his forehead resting against Akira’s.

They’ve never done it face to face, he suddenly realizes.

Most of the time they weren’t even fully naked, except for that last time—but it was completely dark, and Akechi insisted that Akira take him from behind then, too.

For the first time, there are no barriers between them. The sheer realization makes him clench tighter around Akechi, pulling him further in. It makes Akechi’s hips stutter and Akira can’t help but feel proud of himself. He’s rewarded for it too, because Akechi whispers his name like it’s a warning, in the most vulnerable way Akira could have asked for. 

“You can go faster,” Akira reminds him, and Akechi pauses for a moment, going slower just to spite him.

“You really are insufferable,” he mutters, but as spiteful as he is, they both know he can’t keep it up for a long time.

Akira’s grateful for all the gymnastics training he ended up doing with Sumire, because Akechi is practically able to bend him in half, his ankles landing behind his head. Akira wants Akechi to take him in all possible positions, preferably on every inch of Leblanc, before the sunrise. 

“You’re so perfect,” Akechi whimpers against his throat. “Always so adaptable, always exactly what other people want you to be. Fuck, even after all this time, you’re still taking me so well.”

Akira freezes at the sudden change in Akechi’s demeanor. In all the times he’s had sex with Akechi, he’s never praised him.

Akechi swallows all his moans into a kiss, almost like he doesn’t want to hear them—like he doesn’t want to hear any proof that Akira’s enjoying it. The kiss is rough, but the tongue in his mouth is surprisingly careful, each stroke deliberate and on point, and so very Akechi. 

It’s strange how utterly contradictory it all is. The way Akechi moves his hips as if he’s torn between not wanting to hurt him and wanting to rip him apart. His insatiable need for Akira’s body, like he finds him both repulsive and irresistible. 

The grip of Maruki’s reality is still strong, and Akira can easily see the thin line between Akechi as he was mere moments ago and who he is now. It’s like having sex with two different people at once, and he can’t compare that feeling to anything else. 

As if to prove his point, a particularly hard thrust makes Akira see stars, and for a moment he allows shameless moans to escape his throat again, Akechi’s hips fucking into him at the perfect angle. 

Akira desperately wishes they could be even closer, unsure if it’s even possible, and he thinks he says Akechi’s name, and that’s all it takes for Akechi to pick him up like he’s reading his mind, pulling him into his lap, so they’re chest to chest with Akira riding his dick until his thighs start to burn. But then Akechi grabs his hips, thrusting into him harder, and Akira lets him take over like they’re in the Metaverse, and it’s just another baton pass. 

Akira rolls his clit between his fingers, and this time Akechi watches him hungrily as he gets himself off, and for the first time, Akira realizes that even now it’s a childish competition, and Akechi doesn’t want to be the one to come first. 

It makes him laugh out loud, but Akechi ignores him, his own fingers joining Akira’s, and okay, that’s definitely not fair.

“You’re sure you want this to end so fast?” he whimpers between their lips.

“As flattering it is that you think I can keep this up all night,” Akechi groans. “I’d appreciate it if you hurried up a little.”

“Hah,” Akira gasps, doubting his ability to form a coherent sentence. “That’s hardly romantic. Sadly, I hate losing just as much as you do.”

“I know,” Akechi snorts, and then he leans in to whisper into Akira’s ear. “That’s what I love about you.”

Akira’s pretty sure that even if he wasn’t touching himself, he’d come just from that.

Even if it’s fake, even if it doesn’t mean anything, the idea of being loved by Akechi is enough to push him through the edge, and this time, Akechi doesn’t silence him when he comes, just stills his hips for a moment, waiting for Akira to calm down from the aftershocks. If Akira didn’t know him any better, he’d think he’s being tender.

He wonders if there’s anything he can do to make Akechi come, or if talking would only make things worse. Maybe Akechi would rather forget who he’s fucking; after everything, Akira wouldn’t blame him.

Still, he decides to speak, the only words he can think of that could get through to both sides of Goro Akechi:

“You win,” he mutters, petting his hair. “You can let go now.”

Of course it works, and it’s Akech’s turn to fall apart as he comes inside him with a groan.

Akira doesn’t hold him when he shivers, a part of him thinking Akechi would hate it, so he’s surprised when Akechi finds his lips willingly in a desperate attempt to get closer. Akira wraps his hands around his neck to pull him in this one last time, sliding his tongue inside almost lazily, kissing him until Akechi’s completely spent.

Once the afterglow wears off, he fully realizes that he’s currently sweaty, disgusting, and Akechi just came inside him, but maybe none of it matters for now, because Akechi pulls out with a wince and he helps Akira lean back on the bed like he’s something precious.

Just for a moment, Akira feels like he’s someone’s treasure.

Akechi rests his cheek on Akira’s inner thigh, watching his spend leak out of Akira’s abused entrance. He tongues at his hole, and even if Akira’s still oversensitive, he lets Akechi do what he wants, petting his hair even when Akechi sucks on his clit painfully and pushes his fingers deeper inside him, using his own cum as lube.

“I’ve heard about being a sore loser,” Akira chuckles, his breathing slightly uneven. “But this is the first time I’m seeing a sore winner.”

Akechi rolls his eyes. He’s surprisingly quiet through it all, so Akira shuts his mouth, letting him continue.

It’s too much and it’s his third orgasm of the night, but he still comes, painful and oversensitive, and that seems to satisfy Akechi because he wipes his fingers against Akira’s sheets, and the interest he had in his eyes somehow fades.

Akira thinks about how they stained Maruki’s perfect reality in every possible way. How he has bruises all over his body from Akechi’s fingers, his nails, his mouth, and how he won’t be able to hide most of them.

He feels like a fucking work of art. 

He stretches his arms right above his head until his bones crack with a satisfying noise. He makes sure his back creates a perfect arc. After all, everything belonging to Goro Akechi needs to be flawless. Right now, he’s here to please Akechi. He’s here for Akechi to feast his eyes on him. It’s his only purpose.

It’s weird to see Akechi’s face so blank like he still can’t decide what it is that he wants to convey. He’s more of a statue than human, but because Akira knows him, he sees the inner workings of his mind, constantly shifting and turning to form no more and no less than the exact well-calculated outcome. Whatever he’s planning, however, it’s completely out of Akira’s reach.

So far Akechi hasn’t moved an inch, his face pressed against Akira’s thigh like he’s waiting for a signal. Akira wants to hold him so badly he’d kill everyone and everything in this reality to be able to do so.

“It’s not like you,” Akechi begins slowly, reading his mind, “not to take what you want.”

He doesn’t care about the bitterness behind Akechi’s words. He deserves all his disgust, all his disdain. “Please, just come here.”

To his surprise, Akechi obliges, his movements so stiff like they’re barely his own.

Still, it feels good to finally wrap his arms around him. Akechi tucks his head beneath Akira’s chin, probably as an excuse not to look at his face.

“Are you going to leave?” Akira asks. He has to know, even if the answer will likely ruin him.

He can feel the puff of air on his chest as Akechi sighs. “Not yet.”

“You want to stay with me?”

Akechi snorts at his hopeful tone, so spiteful and familiar that it makes Akira smile. “Considering I don’t know how long I get to keep my free will, I’d rather not waste it doing stuff I don’t want. No need to make it sound so romantic.”

Akira _is_ stuff. But Akechi wants him and that’s all that matters.

“I expected you to say you’d never want to see my face again,” he admits. This only makes Akechi cling tighter to his chest like Akira is the one who’s going to vanish.

“What for?” he half-snorts, half-sobs. “So I’d come crawling back to you anyway? No, at least let me have this one thing—the choice to stay.”

Akira doesn’t know what to say to that, but he doesn’t think Akechi expects him to answer.

Akechi runs his hand down Akira’s body, all the way up to his hip. “But if we’re still...then why are you…?”

It’s not like Akechi to run out of words. It makes Akira pause for a minute, too.

“I don’t think he knew,” Akira replies eventually. “At least, I never told him. You’re the only one I trusted enough to tell.”

“I see.”

It’s been a while since they had a casual conversation like this one, at least as their real selves. He remembers the one time he fucked Akechi, the very night he made the decision. How Akechi likely knew what his choice was by then, but he let him whisper tender words of love anyway.

Out of all the things Akechi did—the lies, the murders, the betrayal—he finds this to be the most incomprehensible of them all. By all the rules in Akechi’s book, he should hate Akira. He should have left him the moment he realized the truth.

But he never left then. And he’s not leaving now.

“Are you...feeling yourself?” 

He doesn’t know if they’re going to spend the rest of the night fucking or if Akechi will decide to kill him right away, so maybe they should talk while they’re still focused. Akechi still doesn’t seem inclined to run away, which is probably a good thing.

“It’s difficult,” Akechi replies after a while. “His feelings mix with mine. I can’t tell what’s real anymore.”

“You mean this reality’s...you?” 

Akechi nods. “It’s overwhelming when _he_ loves you so much. It’s fucking ridiculous; you’re sweaty, covered in bruises and my semen, and he still thinks you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He’s so…illogical.”

“Love rarely is,” Akira states bitterly. 

He can’t bring himself to accept the praise, no matter how desperately he wants it. He shouldn’t expect anything from Akechi. Not after everything he’s done to him. Not after he refused to respect his wish.

“It’s not just that,” Akechi scoffs. “If it only were as simple as that. I guess I envy him. How easy it is for him to run his mouth about how he fucking feels. Even if I loved you then, it was never to the same extent he loves you. I don’t have that much love to give.”

“When I told you I loved you,” Akira asks shakily. “How did it make you feel?”

“Like it didn’t matter. You’re more predictable than you realize. I knew you were going to sneak out to take Maurki’s stupid deal behind my back. If you really loved me, you’d know better than to keep me chained down. You know that I can’t do anything to you. You know I can’t run. I’ll always be your slave.”

His voice shakes at the last sentence.

To prove his point, his hands move to Akira’s throat like he’s going to choke him. He squeezes for a moment, and then releases him, his fingertips gently brushing against the hickeys on Akira’s skin before letting go. 

“It’s funny,” Akechi remarks in a voice that says it actually isn’t. “This whole time fucking you I had to physically stop myself from blabbering about how much I love you. And now I can’t even hurt you.”

Akira’s heart skips a beat. 

“How would it make you feel if I said it?” Akechi probes.

Akira stops for a moment to think about it. “Like you said, it wouldn’t matter. Because I’m not sure if it’s you or Goro talking.”

His own feelings run much deeper. He loved Akechi even when it became clear he wanted to put a bullet through his brain. Maybe especially then. He loved Akechi because he never made it easy. Because it was challenging, thrilling.

He doesn’t want Akechi to love him out of pity, but if that’s all he can get, then maybe he should just accept it.

“This reality’s Goro is boring anyway,” he mutters to lighten up the mood.

“ _Goro_ was going to make you a homemade bento tomorrow,” Akechi rolls his eyes. “He thought it would be romantic to wait for you at the school entrance with lunch like he’s a desperate housewife. I’m sure you’d love pretending to like it with my cooking skills being the way they are.”

“Well, you did always want to kill me,” Akira points out. Akechi glares at him; he’s always found the idea of not being perfect at absolutely everything he does abhorrent. Especially if it’s a thing Akira’s good at himself.

“Is this really what you wanted for me?” Akechi asks. “To be him? You liked that version of me that much?”

Just this once, Akira won’t lie to him. He owes him as much.

“Maybe some things about him,” Akira admits. “Mostly, I wanted you to be happy.”

“You wanted me to be in love with you.”

He can’t deny it.

“Everyone wants to be loved.”

Akechi looks apprehensive, choosing his words carefully. “If I had told you I loved you back then, would that have changed your mind?”

“No, because apparently, love doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t make anyone happy.”

“You still don’t get it, do you?” Akechi looks tired, more than he’s ever seen him being. “It’s why I’m still here. For fuck’s sake, you never needed this fake saccharine version of reality to get what you wanted.”

Akira’s never been good at filling in the blanks when it comes to Akechi.

_He’s here to **** me._

_He’s here to ******* me._

There are still so many things Akira doesn’t understand, and he wonders if he ever will. He wants Akechi, Goro, whoever he is, to stay by his side forever, no matter what it costs him. With Maruki’s deal, _forever_ became so easily obtainable. 

He childishly wishes someone would tell him he did the right thing. That he did his best given the circumstances. That he did it for Akechi, and everyone else, and he couldn’t predict how much the outcome would have sucked. And if he was being selfish, that maybe, for once, he deserved to be. Still, he can’t help but ask, threading his fingers through Akechi’s to lock him into place:

“Can you look me in the eyes and tell me you weren’t happy living in this reality?”

“That’s hardly fair,” Akechi scowls, but he doesn’t move his hand away. “Of course, I was happy in the most lobotomized way possible.”

“I guess at that moment I’d take happy and lobotomized over dead and forgotten.”

“I don’t need your excuses.”

“I don’t need you to accept them.”

They fall silent, their feelings too exhausting for either of them to handle.

“So what do you think happens now?” Akechi asks. It’s always surprising when he’s the one to break the silence. “Erasure?”

Akira doesn’t like the way Akechi says it. Could it be that it happened before? Could it be that it will happen again, but they just weren’t able to recall it? How can they possibly know if there are memories they’re still missing?

“Most likely, the moment he realizes,” he hums in response. “I’m glad he hasn’t so far.”

“Even if he does,” Akechi meets his gaze with a strange resolve. “I promise to rip you apart. Over and over again, until there’s nothing left of you. And there’s nothing left of us. Or this stupid reality _you_ decided is best for us.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” Akira agrees easily. “For now, I’ll just take this.”

He lifts Akechi’s head, and Akechi moves, trance-like, to give him access to his neck. Akira leaves his own hickey in a place that should be difficult to hide.

“Possessive, aren’t you, Joker?” 

It’s more than that. It’s his memories written down on Akechi’s body.

He pulls away with a wet sound. “I hope you know that I didn’t want this. I deserve every revenge you have planned for me, but please know that I’d do anything to take us back.”

“Even if I’m dead in the true reality? Even if I don’t love you?”

“Even then.”

It’s a lie and his resolve has never been this weak, and they both know it. But he’d say anything to keep Akechi safe and locked in his arms.

“Maybe you were right.”

“What?”

He’s pretty sure he’s never heard that string of words coming from Akechi’s mouth in any possible context.

“It’s not what I wanted,” Akechi snorts. “But it’s what we have. It’s stupid to think I could go on without you.”

He’s so obedient and passive, and Akira wishes he could bring himself to hate it. He runs his hand through Akechi’s hair, letting it slip through his fingers, and Akechi shivers in his arms, the cold that runs through his body something entirely impossible for Akira to make warmer.

This is the worst possible ending. For Akechi to be dependent on him. To want him because he has no other choice. To have him trembling, cowering in his arms like needs his protection. And yet, it’s exactly what he wanted…didn’t he?

Why does it feel so good? Why can’t he make himself regret it?

“I might still want to kill you someday,” Akechi murmurs, already half-asleep where he’s nestled against Akira’s body. Akira decides it’s a good moment to pull the blanket over their naked bodies, and he kisses Akechi’s temple like it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever heard.

“I know.”

They both know it can’t happen. Maruki won’t let it happen, but he can allow Akechi the one indulgence—Akechi can still kill him in his dreams.

“It’s going to be okay,” Akira whispers. “As long as at least one of us will be here to slap the other awake. Even if it takes a stupid, low-budget film to remind us who we are.”

With Akechi sound asleep against his chest, Akira lets his mind wander. He wonders if Maruki will ever leave them alone. And yet, Akira doesn’t care what reality he lives in. Perhaps he does prefer this one, where Akechi is so much easier to control. As long as Akechi keeps coming back to him, even if he doesn’t love him, does it really matter?

He’s happy. Akira knows he is.

If Maruki makes them forget about each other, they’ll just have to fall in love again. Akira will make sure that they will. He’ll fight Akechi for these memories if he has to. 

He wonders how many times it already happened. How many times Maruki had to pull the plug on their memory, the very moment they became aware of the lie. 

He wonders if he’ll remember all the other times, the next time they wake up.

But even then, he wants to continue it like this, as long as in the end, he’ll come back to this—Akechi asleep in his bed, their bodies remembering what their minds were forced to forget.

And maybe tomorrow, they’ll wake up a little kinder.

They’ll become a little more forgetful.

Tomorrow, they’ll wake up happier, and maybe, tomorrow they’ll fall in love again.

**Author's Note:**

> the story was written as part of the 21+ akeshuake server’s Halloween 2020 event. the original prompt came from lovely [bio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperMechaAkira/pseuds/SuperMechaAkira):
> 
> “Akiren and Goro watch horror movies together. I wonder what could happen. :)”
> 
> as you can see, my approach to it was rather liberal. since it’s meant to be a trick, i decided the trick to make things more spooky was to have it happen during the bad ending. i had many doubts about the story, but i do hope that in the end, it is a pleasant read!
> 
> talk to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/akihmorn)


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